The Charge

"The Sith rely on their passion for their strength. They think
inwards—only about themselves." "And the Jedi
don't?"

Opening Statement

Every story necessarily has a beginning and an end. But, of course, stories
also have middles. Once upon a time, in a galaxy right here, a young director
named George Lucas decided that the story he wanted to tell—an epic space
opera in the mold of the classic Flash Gordon, Buck Rodgers, Crash Corrigan, and
Commando Cody serials of the 1930s and '40s—had become too complex and
involved to tell in a single motion picture. So he split it up and filmed what
he found to be the most interesting of the resulting story fragments. The
result—Star Wars—was, of course, historic. However, it was
also incomplete. For Lucas sought to tell not the story of Star Wars'
hero Luke Skywalker, but the story of the black-clad epitome of evil he
thwarted, Darth Vader.

Twenty-eight tumultuous years later, Lucas completed the story of Anakin
Skywalker (d/b/a Darth Vader) in his sixth Star Wars film, Episode
III—Revenge of the Sith. But this particular story fragment was not
the end of Anakin's story—it was, in fact, the midpoint. But in reaching
this midpoint, Lucas finally detailed the fall of Anakin into darkness and evil,
and did so with something that had been lacking in the sextet up to this point:
raw, naked emotion. It is not a magnificent film, but it is a spectacular
one—and, most surprisingly, a heart-wrenching one. It is a film about
loss, death, and pain, sprinkled with high-tech action sequences to entertain
the masses. But in the end, it's a film about a basically decent person who made
all the wrong choices for arguably good reasons. It is a true tragedy in the
classical sense of the term.

However, anything bearing the name Star Wars brings with it a wealth
of cinematic and cultural baggage. Revenge of the Sith is no different.
Destined to be reviled by many just for existing, the film was lambasted
for…well, take your pick: its wooden acting, gaping plot holes,
over-reliance on technology, excess humor, insufficient humor…It seems
that everyone with even a passing knowledge of the Star Wars universe has
some sort of axe to grind with the film, Lucas, the actors, the story, or with
any combination of the above. Lost in the shuffle of authorized canonical
fiction, action figures, computer games, themed greeting cards, motorized
lollipop holders, Jar-Jar Binks pajamas, special limited IMAX engagements,
artwork collections, limited-edition lithographs, director's commentaries, and
1:25 scale models is the fact that Lucas, for all his flaws as a director (and
there are many), made exactly what he said he wanted to make: a series of
films that were a 1930s-40s style serial. Not films based on them.
Many of the "flaws" in the series—the broad, coarse brushes with
which the story was painted, the vivid black-and-white nature of the moral and
ethical choices faced by the characters, the deus ex machina solutions to
problems, and the stilted, awkward dialogue—are precisely what you got in
those Cold War-era thrillers. He said what he was going to do, and he did
it—he made a fun, raucous, space epic with lots of cool spaceships and
weird aliens. That he brought a good deal of depth to his version of Flash
Gordon was just a bonus.

Of course, reasonable people may disagree…

Facts of the Case

It is a time of sadness and despair. The Galactic Republic is ravaged by
civil war. The Jedi Knights, longtime defenders of peace and justice in the
galaxy, are strained to their limit fighting the separatist forces, led by the
fallen Jedi Count Dooku (Christopher Lee, The Lord of the Rings) and an
ominous half-droid/half-organic named General Grievous (voiced by Matthew Wood).
Amid the chaos, a pair of young lovers, freshly-minted Jedi Knight Anakin
Skywalker (Hayden Christensen, Life as a
House) and former Queen of Naboo Padme Amidala (Natalie Portman,
Beautiful Girls), are desperately trying to hide their marriage—and
her pregnancy—from the public eye.

Padme, who is secretly sympathetic to a group of dissident senators who will
eventually found the Rebel Alliance, is worried about Anakin, who is extremely
close—probably too close—to the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic,
Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid, Dirty
Rotten Scoundrels). Anakin's mentor, Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor, Moulin Rouge), is also worried.
Anakin, although an extremely powerful Jedi, is still as impatient and reckless
as ever. For his part, Anakin is worried, too—he's having disturbing
visions involving Padme's death in childbirth. Jedi leaders Yoda (voiced by
Frank Oz, Sesame Street) and Mace Windu (Samuel L. Jackson, Pulp Fiction) are worried about
Palpatine, who seems to be grabbing more and more power with each passing month.
Palpatine isn't worried at all—because he's secretly Darth Sidious, Lord
of the Sith, and commands the full power of the Dark Side, not to mention the
entire Grand (Clone) Army of the Republic. And so the stage is set.

High above the Republic capital planet Coruscant, Obi-Wan and Anakin stage a
daring raid on Grievous' flagship, rescuing the captured Chancellor from Count
Dooku. After the rescue, Palpatine forces the Jedi to appoint Skywalker to the
Jedi Council as his "personal representative." The Jedi are
suspicious, but allow Skywalker on the Council. They don't make him a Jedi
Master, though, which irks him to no end. He's also asked, by Obi-Wan on the
down low, to keep an eye on Palpatine for the Jedi. Anakin doesn't like being
used as a spy by the Jedi, and begins to change his attitude towards them.

Palpatine (he's a Sith lord, don't forget) senses Anakin's
displeasure—and his visions of Padme's death—and immediately starts
to exploit both. Step by step, Palpatine leads Anakin down the road to the Dark
Side. When matters come to a head, Anakin has to make a choice: will he continue
to serve the Jedi, or pursue what he sees as his only hope to save his pregnant
wife?

I've got a very bad feeling about this.

The Evidence

Revenge of the Sith completes the tale of Anakin Skywalker, taking us
along, step by painful step, on his journey into evil and darkness. It has very
little of the humor seen in the original Star Wars, and what humor there
is seems out of place and intrusive. It is a dark and depressing motion picture,
a film that draws out visceral and primitive emotions from its viewers. Like all
Lucas films, it isn't perfect—far from it. However, it is a very good
motion picture; certainly the best Lucas-directed film since Star Wars
itself.

Revenge of the Sith ultimately is a film about
relationships—but not in the sappy, maudlin Neil Simon sense. It is about
broad concepts: love and friendship; anger and arrogance; loyalty and betrayal.
Central to the entire story—and, ultimately, to the entire fate of the
galaxy—is the love between Anakin and Padme. The two must keep their
relationship secret, primarily because of Anakin's Jedi knighthood. Jedi, we
learned in Attack of the Clones, can't have girlfriends, or attachments
of any kind. Attachments lead to emotions, anger, suffering, and everything else
Yoda goes on and on about. They also lead to an end to the selflessness that
Jedi must achieve in order to do their jobs. Anakin is, of course, the perfect
example of why the Jedi have this rule. He's unable to let go of the things he
loves; ergo, it is the things he loves that have control over him—not his
Jedi training. Anakin acts out of love, not out of discipline. Unfortunately,
evil preys on good intentions.

And so Anakin is swayed by, and ultimately controlled by, Palpatine, who is
the antithesis of the Jedi. Palpatine selfishly uses Anakin's essentially good
nature to his own ends, without regard for Anakin's wants, needs, or desires.
Anakin's tragic flaw is that he cares too much; Palpatine's is that he does not
care at all. As in any good Greek tragedy, the two naturally wind up together as
master and servant, each blinded by and to their own flaws.

Left in the wake of these two relationships is poor Obi-Wan Kenobi, who
ironically shares Anakin's flaw—he also cares too much. But Obi-Wan
buys into the Jedi system, whereas Anakin rebels against it. Anakin's pride
leads him to the Dark Side; Obi-Wan's leads him to believe he can
"fix" Anakin. But he can't. Obi-Wan is consumed by this failure just
as effectively as Anakin is by his. In the end, nobody wins.

At least for now. Of course we, the viewers, know what happens in the
end—there are three rather successful films that told that story.
One of the triumphs of Sith is how the detail and pathos presented here
makes those stories all the more richer. Now, at long last, we understand why
Obi-Wan smiles right before his death in Star Wars. The relentless
negativity and depression of Sith just amplifies the ultimate payoff in
Return of the Jedi.

And there is depression and negativity in spades in Revenge of the
Sith. All of the "good" characters, whom we've grown to know (sort
of) and love (sort of) in the last two pictures, are subjected to intense
suffering in this film. Deaths abound, and not just in the organic sense. A
Republic dies in this film, carrying democracy and freedom to the grave along
with it. An honorable order, whose history stretches back millennia, is almost
completely destroyed thanks to a single moment of betrayal. No one escapes
unscathed—even Palpatine is scarred by his experiences.

Sith is darker by far than The Empire Strikes Back, long
considered the "dark" film of the series. Empire makes things
look pretty grim for Our Heroes, but in the end, they've still got each
other (even though one of them is frozen in carbonite). Sith, on the
other hand, virtually destroys every last one of its heroes. The few who survive
are scattered, hidden, and almost without hope. If we didn't know what was to
come in Episodes IV-VI, we'd be as full of despair as the characters.

Sith is a movie you come to resent, because it plays with your
emotions. The pain and suffering we see in the film isn't remote and
incomprehensible to the viewer; it's immediate and understandable. Anyone (well,
any adult at least) can understand the desire to protect one's loved ones at any
cost, or the pain felt when someone you love like a brother turns his back on
you and everything you stand for. These are simple, real emotions, and
Sith hammers us with them. I made the mistake of mentally putting myself
in Anakin's shoes while screening Sith for this review, substituting in
my own personal Padme. Bad move. Watching the story unfold under those
circumstances was truly disturbing—I became physically agitated and
uncomfortable. To be honest, I never expected that level of emotion out of a
Lucas picture, especially one that's a space serial at heart.

That emotional punch brings up another issue with Sith—it is
not a kids' film. I'm sorry to insert a spoiler here, but it's probably
important for parents to know: at the end of the film, Anakin is graphically
burned alive. And it's not pretty. Leaving aside the graphic imagery in the
film, young children simply won't connect with the story, due to its heavy
emphasis on adult emotions. From a child's perspective, there's no real reason
for Anakin to turn "bad." Yes, there are enough space battles and
lightsaber fights to keep the kiddies entertained, but this really isn't a film
for them. Consider yourself duly warned.

Like I said before, the film isn't perfect. Back for yet another go-round is
the resoundingly wooden acting that has become a Lucas trademark. However, it's
not as pronounced here as it was in Attack of the Clones. Unlike that
film, the Padme/Anakin romantic scenes don't come off like bad high school drama
productions. Nor does Hayden Christensen seem like he's reading from a
teleprompter. In fact, Christensen is markedly better in this film, finally
showing glimpses of his true acting talent. (He really can
act—really!) Natalie Portman is once again wasted, given virtually nothing
to do but hang out and be pregnant. Darned if she doesn't look great, though.
Another fine actor—Ewan McGregor—is once again trapped in an Alec
Guinness-made straightjacket. Think about it—McGregor cannot play the
character in his way; since this character must eventually become the
person played by Guinness in the original trilogy, he has to adopt the acting
choices made by Guinness back in 1977. It's a very difficult task for an actor,
and credit is due to McGregor for executing it so well. Blameless in the acting
department, however, is Ian McDiarmid, whose work as Palpatine has been
exemplary throughout these three "prequel" films. McDiarmid, who has
done a good deal of dramatic television in England, brings a distinctly English
gravity to his work, much as Guinness and Peter Cushing did in Star Wars.
It just goes to show that Lucas doesn't suck the acting out of
everyone.

Visually, Revenge of the Sith is, as expected, yet another quantum
leap from its predecessor. The opening shot is one of the most visually complex
effects shots ever attempted in film, yet it looks as seamless and beautiful as
if it had actually happened. The DVD's transfer, taken directly from Lucas'
digital edit of the film, maintains the high quality of the original source. It
looks just a little crisper and more vivid than the Attack of the
Clones transfer, which was certainly no slouch. The THX-certified Dolby
Digital audio tracks are, as one would expect, outstanding. John Williams'
primarily choral score, which dovetails perfectly with those from Phantom
Menace and Attack of the Clones, haunts the film, often lingering in
the background only to leap out of your speakers in the action sequences. (In
this humble music fan's opinion, the three-part "prequel" score, which
builds on his Star Wars work but expands it into new realms, is the best
of Williams' long and storied career.) Lucasfilm has made sure that the Star
Wars films achieved high technical standards on DVD; all of these discs are
worthy demonstration discs for videophiles.

The one place the disc falls down is in the extras department. As with the
past Star Wars releases, the extra features warrant their own disc. The
lead extra is a substantial featurette, "Within A Minute." It is
clever: it takes a single minute-long shot from the film (during the climactic
duel at the film's end) and explains, in detail, every bit of work that was
required to bring that scene to the screen, from the special effects work to the
caterers who fed the crew. It's an interesting glimpse into the overwhelming
boredom and grinding workload that is the movie industry. But it's nothing we
haven't seen before, and done better, on the Lord of the Rings discs. A
second featurette, "The Chosen One," gives a glib and fairly useless
account of Anakin's road to becoming Darth Vader. Only the most uninformed
Star Wars fans will find anything new in this one. Finally, "It's
All For Real" is the requisite behind-the-scenes-of-the-stunts featurette.
Again, it's sort of interesting, but not mind-blowing. Also included is the
15-part web documentary series that originally appeared on the starwars.com
website, containing a good deal of behind-the-scenes info. You also get the
usual assortment of stills, trailers, TV spots, and other promotional materials,
plus DVD-ROM content and a playable demo of Star Wars Battlefront II for
the Xbox.

And then there are the deleted scenes. I was disappointed by them, and I'm
sure most Star Wars fans will be disappointed as well. When the film was
released, there were several "holes" in the plot that fans wanted to
see filled. Only one such itch is scratched by these scenes: the formation of
the Rebel Alliance. Two of the deleted scenes show Padme with Bail Organa (Jimmy
Smits, NYPD Blue), Mon Mothma, and other future Rebels sowing the seeds
of rebellion. But there's very little there, and it doesn't add much to the
film. The remainder of the deleted scenes deal primarily with sub-elements that
were deleted from the big action sequence at the beginning of the film. What's
missing? Well, where's Qui-Gon? The quickie, slap-dash explanation for the
"blue glowie" nature of dead Jedi included in the film was
supposed to be fleshed out in these deleted scenes—but it isn't.
That's the primary thing missing here, but it's not the only thing—which
is why fans are sure to be disappointed by this scene selection. At least Lucas
and producer Rick McCallum did fairly decent introductions for the scenes.
Speaking of Lucas and McCallum, they're joined by Visual Effects Supervisors
John Knoll and Roger Guyett, and animation director Rob Coleman (of ILM), on the
feature's commentary track. It's functional, and there's some good information
to be had there, but this film—the last in the series—calls for a
more detailed Lucas-only track. Stories about how the effects were achieved have
value, but I think everyone would probably be more interested in hearing Lucas
expound on the story elements.

My colleagues will certainly have a great deal to add to this review.
However, it's important to take a step back from the whole Star Wars
experience and evaluate these films just as motion pictures. And here's where
the fighting begins. Star Wars and its "universe" have taken on
a life of their own, unlike any other entertainment franchise in history (save,
possibly, for Star Trek—but the Trek phenomenon arguably owes its
existence to Star Wars). As such, its rabid fans have taken what was
originally a relatively cheap space adventure meant to explore the outer limits
of special effects technology and turned it into, for lack of a better phrase, a
historical document. To be frank, there isn't a group of fans who are capable of
being more out of touch with reality vis a vis their beloved film than
Star Wars fans. Okay, the Trekkies do give them a run…but Star
Wars fans tend to be more hostile, like a Wookie with colic.

The Star Wars fanbase has been decidedly split on these "prequel
trilogy" films. Many have embraced them as flawed but entertaining, but
many have viewed them as "betrayals." What's lost is the fact that
Lucas has, from day one, been clear about the purpose of Star Wars
and its sequels: they're a contemporary version of the science fiction serials
that Lucas loved as a youth. It's a simple as that. Everything about the Star
Wars films—the action, the one-dimensional characters, the sharp
delineation between Good and Evil, the subtexts linked to contemporary politics,
the pseudo-mythological trappings, the bizarre aliens with equally bizarre
names/costumes, and everything else—is drawn directly from those serials.
For example, Chancellor Palpatine is a crudely-drawn, over-the-top caricature of
a self-styled "benevolent" dictator. But so was Ming the Merciless.
Padme is a crudely-drawn, one-dimensional token girlfriend. But so was Dale
Arden. All of this is familiar; none of it is new.

So why is Lucas roundly criticized for this? The vitriol personally directed
at him by some fans is undeserved, and often ridiculous. There's a simple
explanation—Star Wars fans want the series to be a contemporary
American system of mythology. In other words, they want Lucas to be J.R.R.
Tolkien. Tolkien set out to create a cohesive and coherent system of mythology
for England, which he felt lacked a true culturally native mythology. His Middle
Earth works—which extend far beyond The Lord of the Rings, The
Silmarillion, and The Hobbit, mind you—are dense,
interconnected, and intended to be taken as a single "history" of
England's distant past. Terms like "canonical" can be thrown around in
Tolkien's world, because it's clearly appropriate to do so. Star Wars, on
the other hand, is a space opera. Lucas has never, ever held the series out as
being a fragment of a "mythology" of space, or anything similar.
(Contra Star Trek, which is supposed to be a future history, and
therefore can be held to more stringent standards with respect to internal
coherence.) It's just a movie. It is true that Lucas has exploited the fanbase's
obsession with the mythology of Star Wars via the "authorized"
novels and Lucasfilm's vigilant control over the content of anything Star
Wars-related. But that doesn't turn the films into something they are not.
If I decide to flesh out the Beavis and Butt-head universe, creating a
massive backstory involving Tom Anderson's ancestors settling in whatever town
they are in, it doesn't mean the show isn't a cartoon about two idiot kids
watching videos. And if Mike Judge decides to do a prequel B&B movie
that shatters my little Tom Anderson universe into pieces, I shouldn't
complain—because it's his story!!!!! (And please don't get me
started on the "Lucas ruined my childhood" people…)

Judge David Johnson: Good Knight and Good Luke: A Light Side Look at How
Revenge of the Sith Turned a Hapless Farmboy Into a Jedi Bad-ass

(Note: A big hat-tip to fellow Judge and Light-Sider Dan Mancini and his
insights during our geek-ass discussions on the merits of this film.)

The cycle is complete. We've seen everything George Lucas has to offer us as
far as Star Wars filmmaking is considered. He's told his story, he's
populated his universe, and he's completed his mythos. Some people dig the
Prequel Trilogy (PT in fanboy-speak), others hate it with the fire of a thousand
Death Star blasts. (There's another generalized group of folks out there, but
they don't tend to care two figs about Star Wars and prefer meeting women
and hanging out at sporting events with their friends, but screw them.)

I fall into the former category, whereas I recognize the faults in the PT,
but nonetheless enjoy them and am grateful Lucas opted to pursue his vision.
Some of those on the Dark Side are so infuriated for the desecration they
perceive Lucas to have performed on their child-like souls, they would rather
travel back in time and prevent Episodes I, II and III from ever being released
(how they would do this I have no clue, but I wouldn't underestimate their
combined nerd IQ.)

Revenge of the Sith is a great capper to a solid trilogy of films,
and despite some of the misgivings from the other side of the aisle, it's a
movie that accomplishes an incredible feat: it has significantly affected the
Original Trilogy, and breathed new life into those most holiest of cinema,
movies that have arguably been watched and re-watched and discussed more than
any other films ever—Episodes IV, V, and VI have been newly colored for
me, thanks to the prequels, and despite the barbs hurled at Mr. Lucas and his
perceived lack of storytelling know-how, I hold fast to the notion that the guy
delivered the goods.

Because of the way his prequels had profound ramifications in the Star
Wars mythology, one character, above all else, benefited the most. Who? In
this humble geek's opinion, the once-greatest sci-fi weenie of them all: Luke
Skywalker.

While the prequels, culminating in this excellent film, prove that the
entire six-film cycle is about Anakin Skywalker, it is his upstart son who comes
away the stud. Prior to Revenge of the Sith, that statement would have
been laughable.

"You're talking about the Luke Skywalker, right Dave? The
same whiny little bitch complaining about his botched trip to pick up some power
converters?"

You bet. In the end the prequels had this one simple sentiment to say on
Luke's behalf: f*** Toshi Station, homeboy's got it going on. Luke Skywalker
is the fulfillment of the much ballyhooed prophecy. His theology, if you
will, represents balance, a blending of the both the Light and Dark sides
(though, admittedly, more Light than Dark), into a new and improved Super
Terrific Jedi Light Side.

When the final credits roll on Episode VI, and Luke has earned all his merit
badges to earn him his Jedi status, we see an hombre who's surpassed even the
supposed heavy-hitters from the Old Republic days in his understanding of the
Force. Gone is the cold-blooded reliance on dogma, the resistance to friendship,
and the general condescending, hoity-toity attitude towards everyone outside the
esteemed Jedi Council that characterized Mace Windu and pals from back in the
day. It was a bankrupt order and it had to be jettisoned.

Granted, Vader and Sidious running around obliterating planets wasn't much
of an improvement, but Luke was able to siphon off the Sith's reliance on
passion, and incorporate it into his Jedi spiritual journey.

Furthermore, with Sith, Lucas had the balls to bring such icons as
Yoda and Obi-Wan down a few notches. Look at Obi-Wan as framed in the
prequels—in all three does he ever come across as a true friend to Anakin?
He preaches a lot and is quick to chastise, but there was never a feeling of
actual camaraderie between the two. Some may attribute this to Lucas's
deficiency as a director (and may in fact be right), but I think it was
purposeful. Obi-Wan was the product of a broken society, and though helped Luke
out plenty, particularly bailing him out of that Sandpeople brouhaha with his
Godzilla roar, a re-watching of OT reveals that much of that stubborn,
emotionally detached demeanor remained.

Or how about Yoda? What's with that little pep talk he gave to Anakin about
"letting go" and "welcoming death for loved ones?!?" Yeah,
that's helpful. Jerk.

Take a look now at that most pivotal of sequences in Empire Strikes
Back, when Luke bails from his training to rescue his friends. Yoda and
Obi-Wan plead and go all doomsday on him, but knowing now what the broke-ass Old
Republic Jedi way was, it turns out…Luke was right!

His commitment to his friends, his loyalty, and his compassion guided his
actions in that instance, and throughout. Even when it came to risking 1,000
years of getting digested in the belly of the almighty Sarlacc, Luke laid it on
the line for his boy Han.

Face it—the old-school Jedi needed reform badly. Business as usual
wasn't cutting it anymore and the skiff needed to be rocked. It took a violent
purging, a galactic civil war, and a few dead Ewoks to get the job done, but
once the final reactor was exploited and the last Death Star finally
demolished—and while Wedge and Chewy get down with their bad selves in a
treetop village—it did. It is then we see Luke grinning at the ghostly
manifestations of Obi-Wan, Yoda, and his dad, the leftovers of an outdated point
of view.

That grin. Before the prequels, I would have though it was a simple smile
from an overwhelmed farmboy, a gesture of gratefulness to his betters. Now?

It's a big, #$%@-ing smirk.

Judge Bill Gibron: Darth Lamer

Thank God it's over. After decades of speculation, countless months of
hyperactive hyperbole, and more mincing and kvetching than non-reality TV
participants should have to tolerate, Unkie George Lucas belched up his final
installment in the rise and fall of an ex-N'Sync member—a.k.a. Anakin
Skywalker—and declared it was good. Lucky for him the rest of the critical
community was ready to suck on his talentless teat for one last loving slurp,
praising this concluding chapter of chum like it was some manner of slick second
coming. The truth is, if Revenge of the Sith has an appropriate Biblical
counterpart, it is in Revelations. This is apocalyptic filmmaking at its most
artistically shattering. This may be the only movie in the history of the medium
that actually calls up the Four Horsemen and their plague-inspired mischief
before Pat Robertson and the rest of the 700 Club clan are ready for
them.

For someone who had only helmed three full-blown feature films previously
(Georgie's gotten a whole lot of mileage out of those creator's credits), it's
insane to think that Lucas could deliver the goods, cinematically, for his
return to Star Wars country. Prior to the revisionism of the recent
decade, most fans found the Irwin Kershner-guided The Empire Strikes Back
and the Richard Marquand-managed Return of the Jedi to be vastly superior
to the original (by the way, Ewok haters, if these fur-covered Lilliputians were
so reviled at the time, why did they get the majority of the spin-off
space, huh?). Indeed, in the first run of arguments over the so-called
pre-sequels and their derivative nature, the initial space opera world of Luke,
Leia, Han, and Chewie was always viewed as a perfect progression from
"great" to "greatest."

Sadly, the same can't be said for the double dip known as the pre-sequels.
Under the lamentably lame guidance of Master Lucas, the tightly knit nuances of
that mythical galaxy far, far away became a combination video game, graphic
novel, and foundation for numerous future financial endeavors. Instead of
cutting out all the bullcrap and just getting down to the main 'man under the
growing influence of malevolence' storyline, the Skywalker saga became Dr. Phil
fodder, an increasingly chaotic amalgamation of abandonment issues, uncontrolled
rage, trade tariffs, and hair gel. Instead of dismissing the childhood of the
Darth who would be Vader in a couple of flashbacks, or a simple sentence of two,
Lucas created a logistical nightmare of a backstory, delivering overly dense and
busy digital froufrou in place of certain psychological underpinnings. Perhaps
that is why Anakin's eventual acceptance of the Dark Side of the Force feels
more like a reluctant intervention in Sith than an actual grab for
glory.

The 22-year gap in directing gigs really shows in the pre-sequels,
especially Sith. The pacing is so problematic in this film that it
occasionally feels like a teenager driving a stick shift. He will take an
interesting idea—say the General Grievous/ Obi-Wan "chase scene"
during the climatic middle act of the film—and snip in all manner of
pointless character interaction. One minute we're smack dab in the middle of a
X-box ready dogfight (complete with cute little ship-shredding droids), the next
we are listening to politicians discuss the problems in the intergalactic
Senate. Snore! Lucas constantly fumbles the basics of filmmaking all throughout
Sith. His mise-en-scene is a mess, a jagged jump-cut jamboree of
action-stifling shifts, usually between CGI-candy sequences and unadulteratedly
boring exposition. When he's not undermining the action, he's beating around the
narrative bush. Part of the problem comes from the crappy scripts he crafted for
these films. Even Jabba the Hut got help from Lawrence Kasdan, but Lucas went
the scribe route alone this time around, and the results are as pathetic as the
concept of Force-fed midichlorians (it hurt just typing that).

It's indicative of his writing that Lucas must interlace and complicate his
narrative so. From the beginning, the pre-sequels had no real central conceit.
They had to address several stalwart characters from the original trilogy,
introduce new participants to the Wars universe and find the right
combination of situation and ethos to deliver over Anakin's faith-swapping
denouement. Coming from the mind that conceived Captain Eo and The
Radioland Murders, it was like asking a pre-schooler to prepare a report on
prison overcrowding. Some argue that Lucas was merely emulating the sloppy,
illogical serials of his boisterous boyhood, those one-dimensional cliffhanger
fests filled with mindless mayhem and even more witless wonders. If that is
indeed the case, then Lucas succeeded magnificently. Anyone who has sat through
the abysmal Phantom Creeps, Undersea Kingdom, or Radar Men from the Moon will heartily agree.
Still, exacting mimicry of crap does not somehow elevate your fecal redux into
something stellar. To paraphrase that sage of the simplistic, Forrest Gump,
"doo doo is as doo doo does."

Of course, a better group of actors may have been able to save Lucas's and
Sith's comic book convolutions. A lot has been written about Hayden
Christiansen and his substantial lack of menace, but he is a tiny bit better in
this movie—probably because he doesn't have to say "m'lady" as
much ("master" is indeed a much easier word for the thespian-ly
challenged performer). True, the minute he and Natalie Portman swap lovey-dovey
platitudes, the film enters an emotional black hole that not even dark matter
can endure. As for the rest of the cast, Ewan McGregor is left carrying this
entire saga on his "should have been Bond" shoulders and the weight is
excruciating. Looking like Father Murphy's extraterrestrial cousin and given
over to glorified catchphrases instead of actual dialogue ("You were the
chosen one!") Lucas tries to instill all the heroism we hear about in
Episode IV—VI into a couple of lines from the "gonna be
Guinness" guy. Samuel L. Jackson must feel really good about getting duped
by Dick Tracy's Pruneface—otherwise known as Emperor Palpatine. His death
isn't bad-ass, just bad. And Jimmy Smits looks like he's praying for another set
of pre-sequel prequels to give his character some manner of purpose aside from
playing Padme's wet nurse.

Yet it's the overall lack of logic and the constant narrative numbskullism
that kills Revenge of the Sith. Looking over the major plot elements, one
comes away from the film convinced that everyone in Lucas's future past is a
putz. Anakin knows his wife and child(ren) are in danger, so what does he do?
Does he take them and travel to an exile planet in hopes of avoiding both the
Jedi and the Sith? Nope, he just whines like a wuss and walks right into the
Emperor's incredibly hokey trap. Vader is supposedly seduced by the power of the
Dark Side, but since we never really see him use said strengths until late in
the galaxial game;, he's apparently functioning on more faith than is found
inside a fundamentalist Christian. Indeed, the whole Force flip-flop is just a
joke, an ill-prepared plot twist that seems silly in light of the surrounding
circumstances. If Palpatine is indeed capable of such an elaborate and stealthy
cabal, preplanned out to the point of taking coincidence and happenstance into
consideration, then Anakin was doomed from the start and his easy conversion is
conceivable. But even God gave his people free will. Apparently, the Force is
filled with prognostications of predetermination. The Sith are like Calvinists,
except with more laser beams.

Perhaps the biggest blow to plot logic is the notion that the Jedi are blind
as space bats who can't see the A-number one Sith lord sitting right
there atop the government—or worse, that they are power-mad monks who've
sniffed far too many light saber fumes to be trusted. When Obi-Wan guides Luke
toward the order in A New Hope, he must sense some manner of inner idiot
in the boy. After all, Yoda is championed as this great Jedi Master, but even
his little green butt got hornswaggled by the Dark Side. Some may enjoy the rank
revisionism of making their heroes flawed and their villains unstoppable, but it
more or less wipes out the point of all the previous films. If Vader is the new
major mofo in the cosmos, he shouldn't be sad that he "killed" his
pregnant bride (after all, he is a married man). Since Luke is apparently
the MacDuff in this anti-Shakespearean shite, baby daddy Darth should be glad he
won't be seeing the light—make that lights—of his home planet's many
moons. Like the pirates say, "dead wombs expel no males." Yet when he
discovers Padme's death, a decidedly James Earl Jonesian Vader pours on the
melodramatic "NOOOOOOO!" like Principal Skinner discovering that the
President said school is for suckers.

Making biology the bait to turn Anakin from cool to cruel is Revenge of
the Sith's weakest link. It may have some minor resonance later on, when son
battles dad for ultimate ruler of the Force forces, but it can't conceivably
explains the eventual megalomania pouring out of the Jedi's pursed puss while
battling Obi-Wan on that illogical lava land Mustafar. Since we know everything
that happens in the future, Sith gets away with a great deal of this
situational fudging. In many ways, the original is writing the prequels, not the
other way around. It brings up the entire argument of whether Lucas had these
films all figured out in advance. A cynic might say "no" while a
convert might scream "yes," but the true answer appears to be
"kinda." The "I'm your father" scene from Empire is
still a guaranteed goose-bumper, and the notion that Leia and Luke are kinfolk
is an interesting, quasi-incestual spin on the first two films. But Lucas lost
his way somewhere around the pure visual splendor of the Pod Race. That is why
Clones is so meandering, and why half of Sith is as scattered.
Thanks to the advances in CGI, Lucas could create a hermetically-sealed world
where the suspension of disbelief is no longer mandatory. He'll get the
animators and the bit rates to do it for you. For now, just turn off your mind,
relax and float down the magma stream.

Ten years from now, when the quadruple dips of the DVDs have gotten to be as
old hat as "Tickle You Will" Yoda dolls, when the glimmer is off the
glop and everyone can see this stupidity for what it is, fans and fanatics will
suddenly start dropping Sith down the Star Wars success chart,
probably positioning it somewhere between Jedi and Clones.
Certainly, fresh from the computer and ready to wow, the movie is all motion and
light, bright colors, and funny shapes to stimulate infantile film fans' tiny
aesthetics. But with experience comes clarity, and as more and more people pile
off the Lucas sci-fi wagon and hitch their hopes to other offerings, the dopey
dated dimensions of Star Wars will find their proper position in the
hierarchy of the Hallowed. It happened when The Matrix hit. It happened with Dark City and The Lord of the
Rings trilogy. Eventually someone will come along and do space speculative
fiction the way in which A New Hope promised it would be. Don't worry. As
Roger Ebert said, Lucas isn't done milking this cash cow yet. After all, he got
you to buy into his haphazard saga of Darth Vader's creation. Certainly he has
other substandard tricks up his sleeve.

Judge Eric Profancik: Sensory Overload

As I sit here in my office, illuminated only by the red glow of my Darth
Vader Force FX lightsaber, the constant thrum of the "blade" reminds
me of what Star Wars has given me. While the newer trilogy has tarnished
the once pristine memories of a galaxy far, far away, I still find myself in
love with the characters, the places, the things, and the magic of that
universe. I have received twenty-five years of enjoyment and imagination.

I am not going to proselytize the many strengths and weaknesses of
Revenge of the Sith, for that is in the hands of my fellow Judges. I am
here to tell you my somewhat odd take on this final movie. Allow me to simply
state that I enjoyed Sith. It is not a perfect movie, but it holds plenty
of enjoyment, action, and "wow" to sustain most fans of Star
Wars. Yet every time I have seen this movie, two things bother me: the
opening sequence and the ending shot.

We all know that an opening sequence is, more often than not, designed to
instantly grab the audience and pull them into the film. On the flip side, the
ending gives satisfaction and resolution to what one has seen. While the former
succeeds in its function, the latter fails for me; but, still, the opening
sequence is a classic example of the innumerable faults of George Lucas as the
writer and director of the prequel trilogy.

Picture now the opening moments of Sith, with Anakin and Obi Wan
zipping through the combat field above Coruscant. It's a visually amazing
sequence, overflowing with technical bravado. I love special effects, and I
normally find myself salivating over such sequences; yet the millions of things
that are going on here make it nearly unwatchable. There is just too much
happening, and you cannot digest it all. As we learn in the commentary, the joke
came to be that everything but the kitchen sink was in that sequence, so they
eventually put in a kitchen sink too. That's the flawed mentality here; that
technical bravado is everything. It's taking the final battle sequence from
Return of the Jedi and turning it up to eleven, maybe even twelve. I
think they went too far. It's overkill. Things need to be toned down so we can
actually try to make sense of what is going on. I want to be able to take a look
into the background and discern the ebb and flow of the battle, but I can't. A
good artist realizes that not every inch of a canvas requires color or a brush
stroke. I remember a line of dialogue by Mark Hamill (I believe) from a
behind-the-scenes feature on Jedi that perfectly encapsulates how Lucas
has gone too far. In that special Hamill says, "And every once in a while,
we need to take a moment to catch our breath and marvel at the beauty of our
creation." While he is saying this, we are watching the scene from
Jedi where the Millennium Falcon flies through the Rebel Fleet as they
are about to make the jump to lightspeed to attack the Death Star. It is a
beautiful moment, one of my favorites. It's simple, elegant, and compelling. Can
we say the same for anything that came after that moment?

The final shot of Sith, with Owen and Beru gazing at the twins suns
of Tatooine, bothers me greatly. It's an obvious nod to what Luke will do in
A New Hope, again connecting the prequel trilogy to the original trilogy.
Most love this new scene, but I believe it horribly diminishes the raw power of
the one with Luke. If you recall the "Nostalgia Trailer" for
Sith, what is the first scene that is shown? It is Luke gazing at the
twin suns. It shows the strife within the young man who yearns for more. It is a
simple but masterful scene, one of the most powerful in all six films. But
because Lucas delights in doing things twice, he couldn't leave that scene
alone. I don't buy into the parallels or the line of thinking that Owen is
gazing into the future, wondering what will be. The repetition of that powerful
scene weakens it, robbing it of its striking power and uniqueness. Remember that
if we are to watch all six films in numerical order, as Lucas states, then the
two scenes are only thirty minutes apart. There is no truth in this beauty.
Luke's raw emotion is no longer there.

Judge Ryan Keefer: To Those of You Who Wanted More Films From George
Lucas, I Hope You're Happy

"I describe it as a Titanic
in space. It's a real tearjerker, and it will be received in a way that none of
us can expect." George Lucas at ShoWest, May 19, 2005

So, is everyone who watched the original trilogy several hundred times, who
lobbied to have "Jedi" put onto forms and applications, and who kept
their Luke Skywalker action figures in their original packaging, content with
how this has all played out? One of the most memorable movie villains in three
decades has been revealed to be a kid who listened to his dreams more than the
real events around him and who chose a 60-year-old man over the wife he secretly
married.

Now, is it a tragedy that Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen, Shattered Glass) abandons his wife Padme
(Natalie Portman, Closer), and embraces
the Dark Side of the Force? Sure, of course. Anakin is motivated by the
rejections from Mace Windu (Samuel L. Jackson, The Negotiator) and the Jedi Council,
and despite a solid friendship with Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor, Big Fish), he becomes swayed by what the
Chancellor (Ian McDiarmid, Sleepy
Hollow) says and does around him.

But with one movie already establishing the Obi-Wan and Anakin friendship,
does Attack of the Clones, or Revenge of the Sith, really delve
deeply into Anakin's motivations for crossing over? Well, it doesn't seem to
handle it with much vigor, aside from some wooden dialogue ("Something's
happening. I'm not the Jedi I should be. I want more. But I know I
shouldn't."). Maybe young Skywalker is motivated because his nickname is
the same as a successful Broadway play, who knows? But when examining his
relationship with Padme, it's full of dialogue that on the surface may be
romantic or emotional to some people, but it's just not. Lucas has never written
emotional dialogue very well, and one can only look as recently as Attack of
the Clones for this. When Anakin's transition to the Dark Side occurs, some
of the steps are predictable (though there is one step that is pretty dark, and
quite a surprise).

But consider two moments in the film that are cause for discussion; the
first is the anticipated confrontation afterwards between Anakin, Padme and
Obi-Wan, but the dialogue makes Anakin sound more like Paul Snider than an
aspiring former Jedi about to kill his mentor. And look at the aftermath of that
confrontation, and Skywalker's first words as the newly renovated Darth Vader.
The dialogue is so monumentally stupid, that as a moviegoer, I almost walked out
of the theater. One would hope, even assume, that the origins of Darth Vader
would be a little more Shakespearean, and a little less after school special. In
closing, here are the words of Marcia Lucas, ex-wife of George, appearing in the
excellent Peter Biskind book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls:

"Right now, I'm just disgusted by the American film industry. There are
so few good films, and part of me thinks Star Wars is partly responsible
for the direction the industry has gone in, and I feel badly about it."

Judge Kerry Birmingham: Tears of the Plaid One

George Lucas gets a bum rap. Oh, sure, I know that he can take the taunts
from faceless internet "fans" and wipe away his tears with $100 bills,
but the fact is that Lucas put himself in a no-win situation. Whatever his
motives for endeavoring to create a new trilogy—restlessness, inspiration,
legacy fears, greed—he was a goner the second he put pencil to pad of
yellow paper. Because the fact is that there's nothing wrong with Episode
III…nothing any more than the garden variety blockbuster, anyway.
That's the problem: Lucas tried, and failed, to catch lightning in a bottle.
Again. He'd had a good run with the Original Trilogy (yes, cynics, I'm counting
Return of the Jedi, warts…I mean, ewoks and all). No matter the
popular perception of the New Trilogy, Lucas was doomed. He was doomed not
through any fault of his own, not from the creative atrophy that was certainly
there and begging to be overcome, but from the pressure to redefine the cultural
landscape. Again. And this time he was expected to do it on
purpose.

If Episodes I and II had the distinct feeling the rust being
shaken out of Lucas's brain, Episode III represented an awakening of
sorts. He went out of his way to hit the fan buttons: the Darth Vader mask goes
on! Anakin fights Obi-Wan across the volcanic wastes of Mustafar! The birth of
Luke and Leia! Sunset on Tatooine! Yoda vs. the Emperor! And Chewbacca, of all
things. Chewbacca! George Lucas wanted your goodwill. As fans, as film-goers, as
people who have eight dollars and a need to spend it. If Lucas is guilty of
anything here, it's that he failed to make a Star Wars movie that people
think they remember he used to make. Yes, Revenge of the Sith is fraught
with all kinds cringe moments (the much-discussed "No, it's because I'm so
in love with YOU!" and "NOOOOOO!," for example), but no more so
than every single other Star Wars movie. Haters of Revenge of the
Sith will point to the stilted delivery, the glut of dialogue, the
contradictory story elements, vivisecting it with a scrutiny that seems
ridiculous when one considers that they were probably five years old and playing
with Han Solo action figures when the original film came out. On its own, the
movie works fine: master has a student, student betrays master, takes everybody
else down with him. It's primal, epic, and shot all pretty-like. But this is not
1977; the audience was not a bunch of impressionable kids and clueless adults
who were shocked to see spaceships on a big screen. All those children grew up
and became more sophisticated and worse, very self-satisfied with their own
sense of sophistication. By the time the New Trilogy came about, the fix was in:
Cater to the nostalgia crowd, lose a new generation of prematurely jaded
youngsters unlikely to be impressed; attempt to appease the largely unfazed new
generation, and alienate the old fans looking for the magic again.

Lucas failed by trying to appeal to both camps and pleasing none. Having
just viewed Sith again, months removed from the hype and the
anticipation, I can say with all sincerity that it is an enjoyable bit of
high-gloss science fiction. It does not redefine its genre, nor does it spit on
its rich legacy. It's worth the two-and-a-half hours and the prolonged
"NOOOOO!" Remove it from the filter of nostalgia and expectation and
you might find it to be an actual, honest-to-God enjoyable movie. Just please
don't make George Lucas cry again.

Appellate Judge Mac McEntire: A Certain Point of View

It's tough being a Star Wars fan. These days, if you just mention those two
words to someone, you've got to be ready for the barrage of complaints and
nitpicks to follow. Everybody just has to have their say. "George Lucas has
lost his touch, he can't direct actors, he can't write dialogue, he's making it
all up as he goes along, he's just doing this to sell toys," and on and on
and on.

Yes, I belong to the near-microscopic minority who actually liked the
prequels. This doesn't mean I have on rose-colored photoreceptors, so that I
cannot see their flaws, but I have enjoyed what George set out to do with them.
For as much laser-blastin' fun as the Star Wars movies offer, we also get a good
dose of George's personal philosophy in them, usually whenever Ben or Yoda talk
about the Force.

That brings us to one of the big reasons why I enjoyed Episode
III—because of the themes and ideas present in the film. Those who think
of the movie as nothing but two hours of CGI and noise will probably call this
blasphemy, I know. But George is a brainy guy, and there are indeed a number of
thoughtful themes at work in the film, some of which might not be apparent upon
an initial viewing. So if you walked away from the movie thinking it was all
pointless nonsense, I suggest you see it again, with the following items in
mind.

In the first third of the film, after the big, rip-roaring action scene,
there's a quick romantic moment between Anakin and Padme on her balcony. Many
have complained about the dialogue in this scene, calling it pointless, or too
lovey-dovey. I feel, however, that this little minute-long bit actually contains
the key to understanding why Anakin makes all the decisions he's about to make.
Teasingly, Padme says to him, "So love has blinded you?" These five
little words carry a larger weight than the scene suggests. They sum up Anakin's
fate clearer than any of the big dramatic turns in Palpatine's office. Anakin
becomes so single minded, driven by his need to protect Padme, that he does not
see how all his decisions are the wrong ones. Why can't he figure out how nasty
and evil Palpatine is? Why can't he understand that Palpatine's just using him?
It's because love has indeed blinded him. By the time Padme and Obi-Wan confront
Anakin on Mustafar, he's so far gone in this emotional blindness that he's
unable to listen to simple reason. This frustrates some viewers who put
themselves in Anakin's shoes, wondering why he can't see how obvious it is that
he's being tricked and manipulated, but I say it all goes back to that moment on
the balcony. Does this make the character stupid, or overly gullible? I argue
no, and instead say it's a portrait of a good man gone evil thanks to just a few
misguided decisions. There's a lot of talk in the Star Wars films about the
dangers of arrogance and the importance of clearing one's mind, and now we know
why.

Anakin is not the only character who benefits from reading between the lines
on a second viewing of the film. Many filmgoers initially wondered to
themselves, "What's the deal with this General Grievous guy?" Here we
have a weird, skeletal character with an odd accent and a notorious cough. Why
the cough that movie fans keep complaining about? It shows that there's a living
thing underneath somewhere inside Grievous. He's not a droid, acting only as
he's been programmed to act. Instead, there's a conscious mind making his
choices. Grievous is clearly a foreshadower to Anakin/Vader. We can speculate
about who Grievous once was, and how he ended up as such an unfortunate
creature, reliant on a metal exoskeleton to survive, just as Vader cannot
survive without his iconic black suit. But there's more involved than just the
mechanics. As villains go, Grievous is pretty despicable. When he's about to be
overcome by Anakin and Obi-Wan, his escape method involves destroying his entire
ship and everyone on board, just to save his own skin. He's not a charming
villain, and he's not a humane, could-be-redeemed villain. He's just plain
nasty, the type who'll stab you in the back if he thought it might get him
somewhere. He taunts the Jedi, and uses their own lightsabers against them, not
caring about the Force, or any other Jedi ideals. By seeing just how rotten this
guy is, we can later see how Anakin, once fully Vader-ized in his new outfit is
equally pure evil. But unlike Grievous, Vader will eventually have his
redemption, even though a few admirals will be choked to death along the
way.

What's that? You say my comments about Grievous are based on speculation,
and not on anything explained in the film itself? Well, yeah, that's partially
true, but it also shows how George requires his audience members to figure out
certain points for themselves. Attack of the Clones is the prime example
of this, where viewers must figure out for themselves the ongoing back story
about the separatists and federation, and who's really on whose side. Likewise,
in Revenge of the Sith, there are numerous bits left up to our
imaginations. This works best in the exchange between Palpatine and Anakin
during the "opera" scene. No, I'm not talking about trying to
understand the odd "lights and giant bubbles" performance they're
watching. Instead, I'm looking at the story of Darth Plagueis that Palpatine
tells Anakin. This is the only real "behind-the-scenes" glimpse we get
of the Sith. Many viewers, I'm sure, hoped that this scene would be the big
explanation of who the Sith are, how they operate, their history, etc. Instead,
we're left with an ambiguous little fable. Was the apprentice from the story
Palpatine's mentor? Or was the apprentice Palpatine himself? Perhaps Palpatine
merely made up the story to get under Anakin's skin. We aren't told these
things. Is it frustrating to have so many questions left unanswered? Initially,
it is. But, by leaving the back story of the Sith mysterious and shadowy, George
has kept the Sith interesting. Would Palpatine really be that menacing an enemy
if he sat Anakin (and the audience) down for an extended expository scene,
revealing all his big secrets at once? I for one rather like keeping the Sith's
history hidden away in the shadows. That's how they operate, after all. We're
told all we're needed to know, and that's enough.

A lot of folks have tried to sell me on symbolism during the final battle,
equating the volcano setting with Anakin going to Hell for what he's become. OK,
I won't disagree, but I prefer the more clearly-spelled out symbolism of
simultaneously-occurring Yoda/Palpatine struggle. They're fighting inside the
empty senate chamber. This does make a nice setting for a lightsaber battle,
with plenty of places to jump around, and plenty of large objects to throw
around telekinetically. Thematically, though, it's also the setting for their
overall conflict. Just as they are trashing the place where the government
meets, this shows how their aggression, in general, has caused the government to
collapse. I like how Yoda and Palpatine start fighting underneath the senate
chamber, and then rise into it, showing that their struggle had been brewing
under the surface, before being made public in this story. And, yes, I know they
mention all this in the commentary, but it bears repeating.

Does Episode III have flaws? It does. There are the occasional lapses in
continuity, and a few flinch-worthy lines (like when Padme squeaks, "From
the Sith?"). But none of that means George doesn't know what he's doing. If
you walked away from Revenge of the Sith thinking it was totally useless,
I suggest giving it another try, from a bigger picture point of view. Rather
than pick apart the minutiae of it all, think instead about the overall themes
and ideas presented, and you might find yourself enjoying it.

Or, just sit back and check out all the cool laser battles.

Closing Statement

"Lord Vader?" "Yes, my Master?"
"Rise."

The Verdict

Not guilty.

Give us your feedback!

Did we give Star Wars Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith a fair trial? yes / no

What's "fair"? Whether positive or negative, our reviews should be unbiased, informative, and critique the material on its own merits.